an American sheriff. You will not step out of line again, and in order to make sure that you do not, I am giving you these orders. You will confine yourself to your duties as a village constable. I am now in charge of the murder inquiry. There are enough people working under me to deal with it. Do not approach anyone concerned with the case.”
He stood up and walked to the door. Then he swung round. “And get your uniform on!”
After he had heard him drive off, Hamish slumped down behind his desk. He was, he thought miserably, not suited for the police force. He enjoyed his job until he ran up against the pecking order of the British police force. Except during a major case like this, he was usually left to his own devices.
Now he could not dare go near Drim, or see Sheila, and right at that moment, he would have liked to see Sheila. She was not only pretty, there was an endearing warmth about her.
Gloomily judging that he would not have to sustain another visit that day from Lovelace, he went back to repairing the henhouse and when that job was finished, he got the trout out of the freezer and strolled along the waterfront and up the hill to the seer’s cottage.
“Took your time,” said Angus by way of greeting. “So they’ve driven that poor woman mad, have they?”
“How did you find out so quickly?”
Angus tapped his forehead and winked, and Hamish looked at him impatiently. “I wish I had your network of gossip, Angus, because I’m off the case.”
“What’s the new man like?”
“So you even know there’s a new man? Oh, don’t tap your forehead again. He’s a pompous little fart,” said Hamish bitterly. “He called on me this morning.”
“And you not even in uniform. My, my.”
Hamish’s eyes fell on an expensive basket of fruit on the table. He jerked a thumb at it. “What’s that for? Going hospital visiting?”
“That iss the present from a grateful client. They are not all as mean as Hamish Macbeth.”
“Any of the TV people come to see you?”
“That would be telling. I neffer betray the confidences of my clients.”
“Then I won’t waste any more time with you,” said Hamish, going to the door.
Angus followed him. “I warned you not to get your hopes up about that wee blond lassie.”
“I don’t see much hope of that,” retorted Hamish. “I’ve been told to keep clear, so I probably won’t see her again.”
“Not unless you hurry.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Herself has chust driven up to the police station.”
Hamish stared down the hillside. A car had driven up outside the police station, and he could see the glint of blond hair as the driver got out.
He muttered an exclamation and began to run off down the hill, his long legs going like pistons.
As he arrived at the police station, Sheila was just driving off. He waved and shouted, and she screeched to a halt and then turned the car and headed back in his direction.
“Hallo, Hamish,” she said, getting out of the car again. She was wearing a shirt blouse, shorts and sandals. Her legs were muscular but well shaped, smooth and tanned.
“Come in and have a coffee,” panted Hamish.
“Where did you come from?” Sheila asked.
“I wass up seeing Angus Macdonald, the seer.”
“I’ve heard of him. Any good?”
“Nothing but an old gossip,” said Hamish, leading the way into the kitchen. “Coffee?” He plugged in the electric kettle.
“That would be nice,” said Sheila. “I didn’t know you had gone modern.”
“What?”
“The electric kettle. I thought you had to light that stove every time you wanted a cup of tea.”
“Och, no, I only use it for cooking. Milk and sugar?”
She nodded.
“So what brings you?”
“I’ve got a break. There’s to be no filming today. The lawyers are locked in battle with the police. But the police have a statement from the people in Drim that Patricia had already gone potty, so they might not get very far. I thought you’d be over with them.”
“I’ve been taken off the case by the new man.”
“Do you find that hard?”
“Yes, I do. These murders took place on my beat. I know all the locals. I should not have been left out. How are things in Drim?”
“Seething. It’s a funny place. When we first arrived, I thought it was lovely, a sort of Brigadoon, leisurely and kind. But after a bit, I got to know some of the locals that are being used as extras. They can be quite spiteful about each other. Edie Aubrey, that thin woman who does the exercise classes, got one line to say, that was all, and the other women ganged up and said unless they had something to say themselves, they wouldn’t appear. Fiona told them that the whole thing would go on without them and they backed down, but none of them are speaking to Edie, and someone threw a brick through her living room window.”
“That’s Drim for you.”
“And Alice, the hairdresser, she also had a line to say. Now, she had an extra bathroom put in upstairs two years ago, and she never bothered getting planning permission for it, and suddenly someone reports the existence of that bathroom to the council and she’s in trouble. And yet they all seemed like such friends.”
“It’s a closed-down sort of place, cut off by the mountains and the loch,” said Hamish, “and the winters up here are long and dark. They’ve nothing else to do but study each other.”
“I thought watching television would have given them a broader outlook.”
“It narrowed it. They watch the soaps, you see, and that turns them into drama queens. One of the women confided in me last year that she had low self-esteem because her mother never said she loved her. A Scottish mother, for heaven’s sake, does not go about telling her children she loves them. It is just something up here that’s expected to be understood. Then those American chat shows are a curse. I ‘member when a few of the biddies decided they had been sexually abused in their youth.”
“I thought there might be a lot of incest in these villages.”
“Not with the church being so strong. They’d be affeard that God would strike them dead. Anyway, it seems as if no one is ever going to find out what happened to Penelope. Did you know that Harry Frame reported me to my superiors for harassment?”
“Yes, he was fuming about that this morning. Do you think he did it? Come on, Hamish! Harry!”
“Chust a thought,” said Hamish huffily, because he was privately wishing he had never approached Harry Frame.
“I mean, why?”
“Because Jamie was buggering up the film and then Penelope. Will it run smoothly with both of them out the way?”
“Well, yes. Mary Hoyle is a very good actress. And she never throws scenes, she doesn’t drink and she has a reputation of never being late on the set and of taking direction. She’s a director’s dream.”
“Giles Brown is the director.”
“Don’t get any ideas there. He couldn’t hurt a rabbit. In fact, he is a bit of a rabbit.”
“Would you like to go out for dinner tonight?” asked Hamish.
“That would be nice. Where?”
“The Napoli.”
“Is nine o’clock too late?”
“No, that’ll be just fine.”
Sheila rose. “See you then, copper.”
Hamish admired her sturdy legs as she walked out of the kitchen. Sheila got in the car and drove slowly off. Then she stopped outside the general store, went in and asked where the seer lived.
